Chapter Twelve: Lost in My Broken Dreams
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Anakin wrapped the terrycloth towel around his waist, stepping out of the shower, a bead of hot water running down his leg.
He strode to the mirror and wiped the sheen of gleaming steam from the surface.
His face was then revealed, the glare of the lights above reflecting on his tanned skin.
He had been told, from a very early age, that he possessed a rare beauty, one that must have been envied by the grimy, often homely children of his home patch on Tatooine, with their coarse hair wound in knots and sunburned faces covered in grit.
Even at the Temple, female initiates, then Padawans, as he grew, paid keen attention to him, watching him from behind thick, lowered lashes.
He enjoyed the feel of their eyes on him, even hungered for it.
But hardly any of his admirers were worth pursuing.
None of them could hope to rival the sheer magnificence and luminosity of Padme.
To put it frankly, none of them were good enough.
And yet, he supposed with a sharp, derisive smirk, they suited others just fine. Some could tolerate the dull featured girls, the squat ones and the rail-thin ones, the dry, kinky manes.
Anakin knew about social classes. They were prevalent on a scourged and sin-laden world, where the gleam of full lips or twinkle of brilliant eyes could mean the difference between hard, back-breaking labor and more comfortable tasks.
Despite what some would argue, castes were nearly as rampant within the hallowed halls of the Jedi Temple. The physically alluring members could never be classified in the same groups as those with less attractive qualities.
Anakin also knew he was considerably high on that particular totem. Tall, muscled, with a head of thick, shining, sandy hair. He didn't belong with someone, beyond acquaintance, who didn't meet with his realistic, reasoned standards.
Which was why Senator Amidala-she of the slender, curved body and radiant smile-fit perfectly at his side.
And specimens such as Mejant Brei were better suited with..
He snorted to himself, grabbing a pair of black leggings from his bureau. As often as he overheard appreciative murmurs lusting over his appearance, he noticed the same admiring comments directed toward Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Anakin wasn't stupid. Didn't delude himself into believing things just to soothe his ego. So he could admit (to himself) that Kenobi could never be described as repulsive or unpleasant…
Physically anyway. He thought, raveling a leather sash around his middle.
There were dozens of girls at the Temple, in his age group, no less, who continued to drool and fantasize over the blinded Knight. Girls he perceived to be half way intelligent, some that he even counted among his friends, were smitten with the man.
Anakin couldn't deny that Obi-Wan Kenobi possessed charm, and a unique glow, that set him apart from most in the Jedi ranks.
Even he had been surprised by the handsome semblance of Kenobi that fateful day aboard the Naboo starship. His smooth, gold-tinted face and earnest smile. Eyes that shifted colors like an aquamarine jewel.
Anakin had once seen such a treasure, on the slim, delicate finger of a slave trader. Blinding, unmistakable, distinctive.
But that beauty, possessed by a wicked creature, drained the stone of its appeal.
Anakin considered the situation to be much the same with Kenobi. He drew gazes, yes. Yet it was a ruined attraction.
Because Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn't the courageous martyr and cunning warrior he was rumored to be.
That was basic sentiment due to an unfortunate injury.
In truth, he was someone born to be pushed aside, eternally second-rate. Which was why he was an appropriate match for Mejant. After all, she held only minimal physical attributes. Stubby, as though her growth had been prematurely ended. A round, short face. Eyes so black the pupils were lost in the dark pitch. A nose that should be longer, but wasn't. Her only saving graces were her long raven hair and ample chest.
A passable appearance fine for an average man.
It's not like he really cares about what anyone looks like. Anakin chuckled inwardly, slipping on his boots. At least, not anymore.
It made him wonder why Qui-Gon accepted him as an apprentice in the first place. Anakin had long ago resolved that his Master was meant for things above the ordinary.
He was just waiting--for me.
A consoling warmth filled his chest. Anakin knew he was, in every way, superior to the rest of the Jedi. It was prophesized.
So, naturally, he was above Obi-Wan Kenobi.
So why should I dread him coming home like this?
An unsettling question. He wished he had the answer.
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Qui-Gon slicked the damp hair back with a comb, parting it in a quick line, then separating the two sides. He stepped back before brushing his hand through the short, ginger locks.
Obi-One remained quiet through the ministration, sightless eyes appearing, as always, like they were transfixed by something in the distance.
They were beginning the journey to Coruscant this morning, and the Master had known this grooming would be necessary. Although the entire process would feel quite arbitrary to a blind man, it was needed. Qui-Gon was initially worried, but the Knight was already resigned to what was (to him) a fruitless ritual.
"There. Done." He announced, feeling a trace of awkwardness.
Obi-One nodded, lifting his hand to feel. He sat on the cot wearing civilian clothes, an ivory shirt tucked into tan leggings with a wide belt encircling his waist and plain brown boots that hugged his calves.
Qui-Gon didn't want to go through the longer process of dressing him in Jedi garb yet, especially when they wouldn't reach the Temple for several days.
"Maybe you should put on your jacket." He advised, then mentally kicked himself for blurting something so foolish. It wasn't exactly wintertime on Naboo.
Obi-One had the graciousness to smile at the suggestion. "I think I'll be okay."
Qui-Gon touched his arm briefly, then cinched and shouldered his small travel pack. "Well, we're all set." He scanned the sterile, silver hospital setting…and a wave of absolute relief passed through him.
Obi-One stood, and one of the Master's hands went to his forearm. He took a mouthful of air, slowly.
"Things are going to become better, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon comforted, heading to the door, leading him with a protective closeness. "And we can put all this behind us."
Obi-One fought the urge to bite down on his lip and nodded. Together, they exited the hospital, and felt the rush of a fresh, clean atmosphere on their faces.
Things are going to become better.
Obi-One was beginning to believe it.
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Qui-Gon glanced at the serene backdrop of Naboo, sparkling with the dewy vestiges of young morning, lit by the far-off radiance of a mild, warm sun. This place was the closest anyone could come to paradise--but nothing could erase the bitter cracks formed in the seemingly pristine exterior.
For Qui-Gon Jinn, Naboo could never be as beautiful as it previously appeared. If his feet never touched upon the fertile, pliant soil again, he would be content.
Although he was certain his Padawan felt far differently about the subject, as he watched Senator Amidala stride up to him.
She walked down the hangar, flanked by two guards, a wispy dress of cream loose on her frame, pale ivy-stained bands circling each opening of the sleeveless garment. Long, crimped hair hung free around her petite shoulders.
When she had reached him, he found that her face was beyond resplendent, cheeks shining and eyes glittering, but still. "Were you going to leave without saying goodbye, Master Jinn?" Padme wondered with a slight smile.
Qui-Gon smiled then too, silently pondering the sudden tender effulgence that clung to her body. And her spirit. "I apologize, Milady. Things have been very--complicated."
She nodded with that kind understanding that could only be displayed by a woman. "I know they have." Her deep brown eyes flickered to catch the attention of her stoic companions. "I'll be fine here. Please wait at the entrance."
With an obedient, stiff nod of their heads, the guards departed, leaving the politician with the Master.
"I am sorry that I failed to inform you of our leaving, but how did you find out?" Qui-Gon asked.
Padme beamed. "Oh, I have influence."
He chuckled. "You contacted the hospital, then?"
She joined in the friendly laughter. "I was lucky to catch Dr. Gale before she was gone." She paused. "I'm so happy that everything's going to be alright."
Qui-Gon took a breath, gazing at the feast of greenery and blooms beyond the hangar. "It's been a long time coming." He said, and somehow, the desolation of ten years resounded in his voice.
Padme frowned, her hand grazing her stomach before she caught herself. "I'm sure Ani's thrilled you're returning."
He sighed, almost taking the good-natured comment as sarcasm. "He's doing well at the Temple, but his training's been a bit sluggish while we've been away."
Padme studied his countenance. "Do you miss him?"
"Of course." He was puzzled by the intimacy, and underlying irritation, of her inquiry, but knew the source behind it. "Do you miss him?"
And her eyes fell. "He's a good friend."
Qui-Gon only nodded, while memories of the two in more than 'friendly' moods crossed his mind. He didn't enjoy being lied to. Half-truths were little better.
The sound of the lavatory's sink spray turned his attention toward the ship. "Obi-Wan's inside, if you'd like to speak to him."
Padme gave a partially nervous smile, noting the slight strain in the conversation, especially in her belly. "Thanks." She followed him up the ship's ramp.
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It was a different vessel than they had arrived in. Anakin had taken the original when he departed for Coruscant, since there had been no telling when the last two members of the dreaded mission would be returning.
Padme looked the rather drab interior over, feeling that familiar stir in her heart when she compared her expensive, almost decadent transport conditions to that of the less privileged. It was an embarrassing thought, but there was little to be done about it. She couldn't very well ask to travel, as an influential member of the Republic, in a shabby, rundown ship.
She was pleased to note this was, under closer inspection, a cozy, warm craft, with well-worn furniture and an inviting scent.
And Qui-Gon Jinn was a chameleon when it came to lodgings, the Senator knew. In a palace dripping in elegance and finery, he was a regal, commanding presence. Here, he was much the same.
Except, he seemed more at home.
Obi-Wan emerged from the fresher, walking a few semi-confident steps before Qui-Gon laid a hand lightly on his back.
Padme took in the street clothes with a curious inner reaction that didn't bleed into her face or conduct.
"Senator Amidala has come to say good-bye." Qui-Gon informed the Knight.
Padme moved closer to him. "I'm sorry we haven't been able to talk since…everything, but I want you to know I consider you a dear friend, Obi-Wan." She said softly, allowing a wealth of love to be freed from her soul.
And while the Force had not blessed her with its constant, awing presence, Padme still knew, undeniably knew, that Obi-Wan felt her bared emotion.
Just as he knew, even from behind the permanent veil of his handicap, where her hand hung.
He took the soft palm and fingers gently in hers.
"Don't be sorry. I probably wouldn't have been very interesting to talk to anyway." Obi-One smiled.
She saw the sorrow beyond the trademark dry humor, ignored the ache that blossomed in her chest. "Well, I don't think that was the case. I hope you will contact me when you're settled."
Obi-One nodded. "I will."
"Good." She replied shakily. Padme stood, wordless, for a moment, her veins frozen like streams of ice, and her stomach tight. Abruptly, she launched herself into his arms.
Obi-Wan embraced her, the glossy feel of her hair brushing against his cheek.
"I'll miss you." Padme whispered in his ear. "You've helped me…more than I can say. I could never repay you, Obi-Wan."
Obi-One pulled back and drew the lines of her face with the soft pad of his finger. Cool tears met his touch and he frowned.
She stepped back and dashed the betraying moisture from her porcelain skin. "I have to go. Say hello to Ani for me."
Qui-Gon bowed deeply. "I will, Milady."
With a last smile, she hurried off the ship, her dress swirling in her haste.
Qui-Gon waited, then sealed the hatch, a troubled expression written on his leonine features.
"There's something--sad--in her." Obi-One observed, serious in reflection.
Qui-Gon helped him to the couch, continuously astounded by the inherent talents of his former Padawan. "I know."
Obi-One rested his head gratefully against the beaten, plush backing. "It must be lonely for her."
The Master stroked his hair, already dried during the walk by the sun and light breeze. "I'm sure it can be. But she's chosen her path.
"We all have to accept what accompanies our decisions." He didn't want the newfound resentment toward the Senator to show in his tone, but he was human, and the threat she (had) posed was disconcerting.
Obi-One considered the shred of wisdom. "Do you think we have a similar situation when we choose to become Jedi?"
It was a loaded question, to be sure. Qui-Gon sighed, too tired. "That's a long story to explain. We'll have time." He squeezed his knee and stood. "Let's get ready for take-off."
Obi-One pushed the concerns for the woman to the back of his mind, forcing himself to forget the strange aura that surrounded her. "Okay."
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The aged and slightly rickety ship rumbled to life, the great, loud swell of powered engines drowning the series of beeps from the tiny cockpit's control panel.
Qui-Gon focused on the red haze of the data screens. Once he affirmed that the departure was successful and without danger, he turned to his companion…
And sealed his eyes for a repenting beat, a litany of curses hissed from his mind's mouth.
Obi-One was sitting, painfully, almost inhumanly rigid, in the co-pilot's chair. His face, so recently flushed with health again, was colorless.
His hands gripped the armrests in a stranglehold.
How could I have been so stupid and presumptuous? Why would he remember how it feels?
"Relax, Obi-Wan." He intoned gently, moving to cover one pale, clammy hand with his warm fingers. "This is just the way it is during takeoff."
Obi-One swallowed thickly, his head tipping toward the low, assuring voice. "It feels so…strange."
Qui-Gon used his free hand to grip a shoulder. He could remember his first travel upon a ship. The floor's vibrations seemed to rattle in his chest, and he was attentive to every minute sound, sure that the slightest creak meant that the vessel would go into a doomed tailspin.
And I wasn't blind. He reminded himself, touch tightening on the stiff shoulder.
The Master settled in the pilot's seat, swiveling to face Obi-One. "I should've prepared you for this." He lamented, unable to silence his self-deprecation.
Obi-One mustered a weak smile. "You can't warn me about every little thing I've forgotten." He was forced to pause as a wave of nausea passed through his stomach. "Besides---it's not that bad."
Qui-Gon laughed. "It's truly a wonder."
The young Jedi lifted an eyebrow quizzically, gulping again.
"Even now, I can still tell when you're lying to me."
Obi-One flushed, a light chagrin enhanced by the surrounding pallor of his bleached skin. "Rubbish." He denied facetiously, grinning.
Qui-Gon smiled at that. "You're definitely not the first to be unnerved by a takeoff. In fact, sometimes I still get a bit uneasy when the ship starts."
Obi-One, though aware that the honesty of the statement reached only a certain degree before crossing over into providing sheer comfort, was grateful for Qui-Gon's thoughtfulness.
And while his anxiety didn't drain away totally, it receded to a bearable level. He smiled to himself, feeling an encompassing love transcend his fears.
His memories would come to him, in time.
But for now, there was only what he knew, and what he knew was what Qui-Gon told him.
For now, in the space between Naboo and Coruscant, they had each other.
Until the scraps of his past became the full tapestry, Qui-Gon was the sole resident of Obi-One's heart. The single hope for comfort and humor.
He knew he would cherish this brief time, even as other dear recollections returned.
The ship suffered a minor quake, but Obi-One discovered he wasn't as cowed by the unfamiliar disruptions.
Because he had someone who would protect him from it all, who had already shown an incredible reserve of love for him. Who had shown him what it felt like to be a beloved son, before he had the opportunity to understand, or remember, loneliness.
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"Here we go." Qui-Gon announced, the cheerful lilt in his voice calm more than restrained, as he carried two plates into the ship's small main area.
Obi-One smiled. "It smells great."
"Eh." He plopped down beside the Knight, "I'm not very spectacular in the kitchen. You only think that because you've been exposed to hospital food for so long. "
Obi-One chuckled, taking a conservative sip from his tumbler of water, his lips shining moistly. "Probably so--Are you a good cook?"
Qui-Gon, with gentle caution, placed the dish on Obi-Wan's lap. "Taste for yourself."
Obi-One felt a cool, smooth fork handle pressed into his hand. He speared a plump, unnamed morsel and popped it in his mouth.
A round, textured berry with a strong, yet sweetly tangy flavor absorbed his taste buds. He chewed with surprising enthusiasm, then swallowed. "That was fantastic."
A bright, crisp memory came to Qui-Gon then. "You've always enjoyed those. Banji berries."
Obi-One smiled, taking another bite. "Really?" The response was distorted by the explosion of juice in his mouth.
"Yeah. I remember when we rescued this tiny princess. Barely four years old. She was scared to death of me, and liked you little better. She was crying endlessly. Exhausting herself.
"So you grabbed a banji and somehow, I'll never know for sure how it was accomplished, you balanced it on the tip of your nose.
"The girl squealed with laughter. And she had been a merciless critic toward all our efforts before then. For the rest of the mission, she was practically attached to your leg."
Obi-One laughed heartily, wiping a dribble of the fruit's moisture from his dimpled chin. "I'm astounded by my talents." He joked in a dry tone.
Qui-Gon beamed. "Oh yes. Such things must be natural for someone like you."
A brilliance flashed in teal-tinted eyes. Obi-One raised an eyebrow. "Do you think I can still do it?" Child-like delight permeated his elegant, inner-core accent.
" How should I know?"
And a tacit, but very real, wonderfully ridiculous challenge hung in the ensuing bout of silence.
Obi-One gulped down some ice water, then held out the glass to Qui-Gon, who set it aside.
"Alright." The young man began, the first section of the word stretched out in an excited style, near singsong He cracked his knuckles, a rugged grin on his face. "I must prepare."
At that moment, Qui-Gon banished any rumor of his permanent steeliness, by releasing a sound that resembled something strikingly similar to giggling.
Obi-One plucked a fat berry from the plate, shook off the drip of juice, then positioned it on the edge of his nose, holding it there.
Qui-Gon smirked. "Impressive, Obi-Wan…Are you planning on removing your hand?"
"Of course I am." He snapped. To prove his point, he did just that.
And Qui-Gon shook his head, watching the berry stand perfectly, maddeningly still on its unlikely platform. "You've still got it." He conceded.
Obi-Wan laughed breathlessly, and the banji dropped from the unstable perch.
"You better eat that. No food going to waste." Qui-Gon teased. "Now are you going to try the main course, young man, or was that some elaborate show meant to avoid tasting my cooking?"
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Sweat shone on his skin like a high gloss, and Anakin slicked his hands through his hair, the cool, conditioned apartment air hitting the heated body as would a gentle breeze after a fierce and sweltering sandstorm.
He tossed his dark outer tunic layers and cloak (shed long before) onto the sofa, striding to his bedroom with an energy practically pulsating in his tight calves, tingling in his fingertips.
The Padawan never enjoyed lying to his Master. He liked to believe that, excluding certain personal 'distractions' in their lives, there existed a basic familial trust between them. A deep affection and consecration that could (and, if needed, WOULD he added with a smug twitch of his lips) send other seemingly vital relationships spiraling into a pit of obsoleteness.
Qui-Gon Jinn was a man of his word.
To an extent, anyway.
And the most sacred, honored words, the words that bound two souls together in promise of elite tutelage, Qui-Gon had spoken, let spill from his mouth on more than one occasion.
Anakin could remember the earnest, full-fledged faith in Qui-Gon's clear blue eyes. He had memorized the gazes beating with instant, intrinsic affection that caused the young boy to believe he had found a father, a noble figure to replace the part of him that had been searching, hoping…
Those recollections became something he could unfailingly rely on. If the very walls of the Temple shook and crumbled around him, if his skills, his place in the Jedi were denounced…even if he had only a tingling of doubt in his mind, Anakin could lean on the knowledge that Qui-Gon had believed in him from the start.
But does he now?
Anakin paused, his eyes hooded as they stared into a blurred distance.
Of course he does. Yes, he does. I haven't changed. I'm still the same---
No. I'm not the same.
I'm better.
The paralysis fled him with the self-revelation, and he sank down on his bed, the activities of the day finally seeping into his bones. He felt as though he could disappear into the soft cradle of the mattress, permit the groggy fog to carry him from the taxing life he led for a few precious hours.
But, as it often was in times of heavy exhaustion, errant thoughts consumed his brain.
Padawans were expected to be stridently honest with their Masters. Leave no secrets in the dank area of their minds, places cut off from the training bond.
I'm still allowed to bend the rules a little? I mean, I'm only human right? He reasoned to himself, resting his head in the fold of naked, muscled arms. And it's harmless, really. I'm not doing anything terrible. He's not around to evaluate my report anyway…
And the invading bitterness was swallowed down with a thick click and clench of his eyes. He's coming back. He misses me--he said so.
That was a traitorous comfort, for although Anakin wished to have the most revered place in his Master's heart, being shunned by the man would make it far easier to manipulate the truth.
In that circumstance, he would never need to feel such guilt.
It wasn't a complete lie. He was assisting Master Espella in the initiate-level classes--but his report had been due before he ever encountered the inquiring teacher. Anakin had every intention of completing the assignment…
So it shouldn't be a big deal. No one will ever know.
Just as no one would ever know that his time spent aiding Espella was shorter than he let on. He had a valid excuse for his early departure. He needed to leave the Temple to find a satisfactory comm unit (that couldn't be traced back to him) and contact Padme.
Anakin tossed onto his side, looking at the band of empty space beside him. She had never lain in this bed, never slept between the well-worn sheets with her sweet face placed on his pillow.
He thought of her bedroom. The fresh, floral scent that misted the air and soaked into every thread. Even if she were gone from the elegant space, she left a lasting memory, an aromatic imprint in his desire-crazed mind.
A lusty churning in his heart.
Why can't there be a way…For all the good things in my life to be able to just exist together. He threw his forearm over his eyes and took a sharp breath. Without it being seen as betrayal.
Anakin lay in his bed, wanting to be covered in the warmth of the blankets beneath him. Then, knowing the cold consuming him couldn't be satisfied by such simple means, fell to sleep solitary in the apartment, body chilled and disrobed, mind caught in a pain-induced lull…and one hand limp over the bare half of the bed, an expanse that seemed to grow as he further thought of the one that should occupy it.
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Qui-Gon took a long drink of his tea, brewed to a deep mahogany color, strong to his taste. Laces of steam drifted up around his chin and nose. The herbal scent soothed his nerves--
Which were on edge this still night in hyperspace.
He sat back against the ship's sole couch, the buzz of silence a wanted companion.
The quiet meant that Obi-Wan was sleeping peacefully in his quarters.
He deserves the rest. Qui-Gon's eyes flickered over to the open door. Obi-Wan ate dinner with eagerness, enjoying the collection of fruits, toast and cheese. He was unable to finish the meal, his appetite having suffered a huge decline during his time at the Naboo hospital. The younger Jedi expressed embarrassed remorse for leaving much of the delicious food untouched, but that worry was quickly vanquished by Qui-Gon, who told him that no one in their right mind would take it as an insult.
Obi-Wan was eased by the man's assurance.
Qui-Gon was glad for that, but he couldn't deny that he looked forward to a time when his companion wasn't too intimidated to reject food when he'd had his fill.
It was such a simple action.
And as he sat alone, dark dregs of tea ringing the bottom of his mug, Qui-Gon had to wonder just how many obstacles Obi-Wan faced, big and small, with each day.
Then, when his memory was restored and he regained his independence, what hurdles would remain for him to clear.
Qui-Gon rose, walking with subdued steps to the cramped, shadowed bedroom. He stood in the doorframe and watched Obi-Wan sleep, strips of purplish light falling across his face from an adjacent window.
Yes, he deserves this rest.
He lingered a moment more, then strode to the virtually nonexistent kitchen unit to wash out the stained mug, his gaze tainted with concern.
The Force flexed uneasily. He turned off the rather loud stream from the sink, bringing all his attention inward.
There wasn't an obvious source of the distress. Only emotion, trickling from paper-thin shields, powerful and overwhelming.
And a muffled sobbing, exterior, so close…
Obi-Wan.
He rushed to the room he had so recently vacated, prepared to find the Knight a crumpled, crying mess.
But his frenzied eyes met a figure curled in the center of the bed, hands balled against his jaw, weeping.
Qui-Gon crouched at his side. "Obi-Wan?" He murmured.
Obi-Wan seemed not to hear. He was twisted in the blankets as though helplessly cold, hair in his face and lips quivering.
"Obi-Wan?"
He brushed the ginger drape behind Obi-Wan's ear, and saw tears glossing the dark circles around his closed eyes.
Obi-Wan was dead asleep. Dead asleep, crying in desolate, soft hitches that knifed through the Master's heart.
Qui-Gon shook his head, laying a large hand on his friend's head. Somehow, he knew he could not halt the flow of misery as surely as he could not erase the image of finding him sprawled across that underground prison floor.
Naboo had been a place of intense woe for them both, and the only way to overcome it was to allow it to pass through.
So when he felt the spike of tears in his own eyes, Qui-Gon reasoned that it was because they needed to move forward. He settled beside Obi-Wan's bed, taking a limp hand in his.
"I wish I could save you from feeling this." He whispered. "I wish I knew what you were feeling."
And the Master drifted off, afraid that the memory returned to Obi-Wan that night would be more than a random scene--that instead, it would be a painful truth.
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When his body filled in that position usually reserved for an early sun, and dragged him from the gentle nothingness of slumber, Qui-Gon enjoyed a brief second in which the straining anxieties lay dormant. All that existed during that short, groggy cadence of time was a warm blanket settled over his legs and Obi-Wan's unadulterated Force presence, streaming into the air and salving his scarred heart.
But the moment couldn't last. The intense whirlwind of days and the grotesque tortures inflicted upon their lives came creeping into his mind, like a serpent with a split, lashing tongue, waiting to strike, to devour this soft makeshift morning with incurable venom.
Qui-Gon could feel the scales raking across his thoughts and he couldn't fight the despair returning within him. It was becoming familiar to him. Too familiar.
He lifted his head, an ache stretching taut in his neck muscles from a night spent at a spectacularly odd angle, propped against the wall. With a reluctance he was shamed to acknowledge, the Master opened his eyes.
The small chamber was devoid of light, save the weak amber twinkle of a glow rod in the connected main room. He blinked away the dryness in his readjusting sight, then switched on the lamp with a wave of his hand.
Obi-Wan's form became better visible, curled on his side a foot from Qui-Gon and turned away from the man, shoulders pressed forward to stave off some imperceptible chill--
Or maybe something far worse.
Qui-Gon could tell without even a shallow access of their bond that he was awake there, lying in a pitiful huddle.
But then, Obi-Wan Kenobi had never been pitiful. Over his lifetime, the youth had evoked great passion and sorrow in others. They mourned for his losses, grieved after his sight was ripped from him, held him with both arms. Never pitied him.
And if they actually did feel shades of sympathy for him, they were mistaken. Because even in the worst, unholy hours, Obi-Wan rose above them all.
Qui-Gon watched the unsteady breathing shake the curved back. Can he lift himself up from this---whatever this is that he's remembered? Oh Force. What has he remembered? A shell of painful ice enclosed his soul, a cold fear, as he observed Obi-Wan, and became ever more certain with the silent, passing minutes that he was going to be revealed.
That the phony mask Obi-Wan had obliviously allowed him to don would show the cracks.
And then…and then break away, the betrayer that dwelled beneath shown for what he had been from the beginning.
Betrayer?
It was a strong name, full of unspoken sin and deceit.
Was he really a betrayer, a man who willingly deserted his comrade--partner---son?
Then the face hovered in his vision. The handsome, beloved features tainted by quiet outrage. A swelling anguish suffered in private, but bleeding into cerulean eyes, accusing without a word. Declarations sworn in the fever of bitter haste that seemed to seal the fate of one so gifted,so..
Betrayer. Yes. Betrayer.
He had been certain that was established long ago in his own heart. So it was quite a shock to discover that it had only been assumed. In this instance, he was finally, completely sure of what he was.
What I once was-- I'm different now. We're both different.
He refused to examine the feelings further.
Mostly because he already knew that although he may have changed, the repercussions of his actions had rippled beyond imagination.
And even he, a seasoned Jedi Master, could not handle such acute guilt, not if it grew to be more than the dull constant it currently was.
He reached out his hand, letting it rest on Obi-Wan's neck. "Obi-Wan?"
The call came quiet, so it did not startle him. On the contrary, he had known of Qui-Gon's consciousness, in that strange sensation that swept through his mind, that alerted him to so many things, even when he was not prepared to listen.
Obi-One could not find the energy to roll over. It's better this way. I don't want him to see--I don't want him to know... He remained slumped against the bed, cool tears on his cheeks, fresh, hot ones starting in his eyes. "Y-Yes?" He croaked.
Qui-Gon sat up. The young man's emotion, reflected in the Force, was rife with misery. He brushed back Obi-Wan's hair, to catch a glimpse of the concealed eyes. "Obi-Wan, what's the matter?"
He shook his head, hugging himself, trying without success to disappear into the layers of bedding.
Qui-Gon saw the tears shining and sighed. "Obi-Wan, you must tell me what you've remembered." He thought of Obi-Wan's right to privacy, to keep the restored recollection to himself, then quickly abandoned the notions. "I can help you get through them and understand them."
Obi-One grasped the sheet draped over him as if someone had threatened to steal it from his very hands. "I-I can't understand. Pain. S-So much pain." He nearly choked on the building sobs in his chest.
Qui-Gon forced him from his fetal stance, gripping his upper arms with careful urgency. "Tell me." His stomach twisted, he almost flinched at the apprehension. "Tell me, Obi-Wan."
Obi-One's lips were as hesitant as the rest of his mind and body, quivering. His countenance was painted in pale, sickly colors. "I…" Then he pitched himself forward into Qui-Gon's embrace, his head falling to a massive shoulder, his fingers wildly mapping the lines of the Master's face.
Qui-Gon cradled him tight, the furious beat of his chest echoing in his ears. Oh gods no. He rubbed Obi-Wan's back, slipping his hand under the tunic to warm freezing skin with a light friction.
After a few minutes, Obi-One tried to pull back, wiping at the copious moisture staining his skin.
But Qui-Gon held him steady. If this is the last chance I have before-- Then I can't let go yet. "Tell me what's wrong."
Obi-One sniffled. "You--"
No no no no no no no no
"Your friend. You loved h-her. I loved her a-and…" Obi-One shivered. "She died. You were with her when she died. I was there too. Sh-She was murdered."
It was an ancient, awful pain in Qui-Gon's life.
But it was new to Obi-Wan. He could not remember the time spent recuperating from the tragedy, because it had taken years. Obi-Wan wasn't given years back.
Just shreds of yesterdays.
He kissed the cool forehead. "I know.
"Tahl was a wonderful woman with a beautiful spirit. I did love her, nearly as much as I loved you. She was my wife."
Obi-One continued to cry into the tunic sleeve, feeling like the child he had been, standing in a shadow, watching his Master's rage ignited, his dreams for love, for happiness, shattered.
"I-I'm sorry she was taken from you." He rasped, when he could again talk, nestled in the solace of Qui-Gon's arms.
Qui-Gon looked into the distance, engulfed by his memories.
The shock and fear in the boy he made himself ignore, in order to accomplish what must be done.
Tears motionless in sea-splashed eyes, halted from natural release by an incredible resolve.
She would've been his Mother.
And, judging from the way Obi-Wan stayed against his chest, weeping with a hand entwined with his, Qui-Gon knew he too was aware.
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
The vessel hurdled toward Coruscant, a gray streak in thick, star-scattered space. It had come far in its journey, but was yet to approach its destination.
There was still time to be spent in the dark pathways, dodging obstacles that floated into its range, that would seek to hinder its progress…even halt it completely.
Qui-Gon stood in the claustrophobic kitchen area, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the small food selection. A few hours had passed since Obi-Wan's heartbreaking remembrance of Tahl, and while the tears had retreated, his eyes remained rimmed with red, enhancing the somber deadness of the cobalt gaze. He was sitting in the tiny common room, statuesque in his frozen state on the sofa, the bright beauty all but gone from his spirit.
Qui-Gon was swept into the most barren period of his life whenever he looked at Obi-Wan.
How he must be suffering.
But at least this wasn't…
He shook his head. Force, how damned selfish can I be? He's in there, reliving that hell--and here I am, thankful, because it didn't turn out to be what I thought it was…
The Jedi breathed out, wishing, with amazing irony, that Tahl were here to help him through. She would never be relieved the way he had been.
She would have--
Qui-Gon stopped, a melancholy sparkle misted with very pale blithe filming his eyes.
She would have done what she always did.
And that was the answer.
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
Obi-One sat against the cushions of the sofa. Just hours before, they had been soft, yielding. Now they seemed to be slabs of jagged stone beneath him.
Cold without pliancy.
Existing, but only causing discomfort.
He began to think, as he was surrounded by the rigid piece, that if he didn't move soon, that discomfort would turn to pain.
So why did he stay sitting?
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
Qui-Gon reentered the living room grasping two mugs, sitting beside Obi-Wan, leaving little room between them . "Are you thirsty?"
Obi-One felt the warm waft of steam touch his face. He nodded, lifting his hand to accept whatever contents were being offered.
Qui-Gon guided the fingers, to wrap them around the ceramic handle. "There." He said, just to stave off any approaching silence, just to say something.
Obi-One thanked him quietly, then took a sip. The familiar beverage of his convalescence slid into his mouth: tea, mildly strong. But there were other flavors that gave it a distinct punch. Fruit, sprinkles of sugar, even a dash of sweet spices. He took another, longer drink.
Qui-Gon watched him, smiling.
Obi-One withdrew. He wiped at his wet lips with a fingertip. "That's very, very good."
Qui-Gon swallowed a mouthful himself, then rested a hand on his companion's shoulder. "You've always loved tea this way. Ever since you were a young Padawan---and Tahl would prepare it for you."
This did more than spark Obi-One's interest. "Tahl? Tahl used to make this for me?" He asked, bewildered.
"She did.
"You suffered a pretty serious sprain while sparring with a friend when you were only about fourteen. I was away on a solo mission, and when you were being taken to the healer's, you were calling for me. The pain had left you disoriented, and you were incredibly persistent." The Master explained. "Your friend asked Tahl how they could contact me, so that you could at least speak with me. Tahl reached me, but the connection was cut off too soon, before I could talk to you. So she sat beside you while they cared for your injury, her arm around you and her special blended tea at your lips.
"Ever since that day, she was always bringing it to you when you were sick, or sad, or just looked to be in need of it." Qui-Gon grinned at the memory, eyes sharp with emotion. "I never trusted anyone as much as I trusted her, when it came to your safety." He murmured softly. "She was there when I couldn't be--and I loved her all the more for it."
Obi-One held the mug in his hands, his thirst forgotten, cradling the tea like a delicate treasure. He swallowed a tight mass forming in his throat.
Qui-Gon studied his face, seeing the struggle behind sightless, ocean-splashed eyes. "Tahl would not want you to despair this way. You mourn her, yes. But don't forget there's more to come for you, Obi-Wan." He slipped his arm around Obi-Wan. "There are many, many good things to be known. About your life. About Tahl."
Obi-One nodded, surrendering without a substantial fight to the tears, throwing all his trust, once more, into the words of this man, his friend-and savior.
Qui-Gon accepted the silently sobbing form, settling against the sofa arm and steadying the mug, bordered by two sets of hands.
The indifferent stone couch melted, softened, as if suddenly aware, as Obi-One was, of the promise of the future.
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
The rest of the day was spent in a quiet reflection. Qui-Gon struggled to allow his own memories of Tahl to flow through him without stinging the ever-tender wounds. Flashes of her luminescent smile, skin honeyed and warm, eyes streaked with gold and jade came constantly to him, and more than once he had to suppress a shiver.
Obi-One sat at the end of the sofa, legs tucked in and a worn quilt around his shoulders. He took an instant liking to the fruit-laced tea, holding it close to his chest, taking deep drinks. Sometimes he would pause after swallowing and his still lips would be touched lightly to the heated ceramic rim.
Qui-Gon wondered where he went at those times. If he was only thinking of Tahl when his eyes took on that glassy glaze.
In the late afternoon, or what passed as such in this interstellar, dark plane, Qui-Gon rose to freshen the brewed beverage.
But when he placed his hand on the mug, Obi-One clamped his fingers around it. "No." He whispered.
Qui-Gon took a step back. He studied the young countenance with worried eyes. "What is it?"
Obi-One inhaled. "I-I think I'm remembering more."
Qui-Gon sat beside him. His heart clenched up. "Can you explain it to me? I mean, if you want to." He added hurriedly.
Obi-One teased a fray of the quilt between his fingers. " I don't know. It's just a lot of bits, shreds of things. Some I really can't explain, they're so random. But--
"One is so vivid I feel like it happened yesterday. I can remember everything about it. Even the pain."
Qui-Gon put a hand on his shoulder.
"It hurt. I can feel the rock hitting me. The jagged edges ripping my legging. Being driven to the settlement and looking down at the blood dripping from the wound. I was trying to breathe in and think of something else-the mission, and Tahl-but I kept looking back to see you on your swoop behind me. Usually, I would have been embarrassed to glance over my shoulder so many times, but I was dazed and I didn't care. I felt sick."
Qui-Gon moved his hand down to Obi-Wan's back, rubbing it in support. "Yes. You were a little ill after that."
"No--not that way." Obi-One corrected softly. "I was angry with myself. Beyond angry for slowing things down."
"We couldn't have moved on with you injured, Obi-Wan."
And the Knight could detect the subtle change in the masculine voice. From the near-monotone inflection, he wasn't sure he needed to continue.
He was hearing the truth already.
"But it was my mistake and carelessness that caused the delay. I could've managed alright for awhile without stopping for the bacta. You should've left me there."
Qui-Gon cleared his throat. "It was my duty to protect you above all else. I could never have left you there."
"Of course you couldn't." Obi-One's mouth twitched in a humorless smile. "And then Tahl died."
Qui-Gon looked away. Such a short, clean way to sum up all the bone-deep, heart-wrenching pain, what was truly long and dirty and sullied. The way her pallor had taken on a clammy translucency, the vibrancy drained from her body. Her voice stripped of its lovely, crisp harmony.
And her presence in the Living Force, snuffed out. Leaving a whole gaping within him.
He felt a brief burst of selfishness. Force why does he have to remember this? Why should I have to go through it again? And then it was gone, when he glanced back at Obi-Wan's face. A single tear glittered in his azure eye.
"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon murmured, wiping it with the tip of his finger.
Obi-One pulled away from his touch. "It…It was my fault, wasn't it?" He gripped the quilt, his entire form becoming stiff.
"NO." The Master answered in an instant. "You were a child."
"And I feel like one." Obi-One said. "I'm thankful for what you've done for me. For taking care of me. And I'm thankful for the operation. Gods, I know how lucky I've been. I could've died. I might not've ever made it as far as I have."
He pursed his lips. "But I'm feeling so much, all at once. I don't---I don't want to be a weepy, weak burden. Right now, even right now, that's what I am."
Qui-Gon crossed his arms, sitting back, giving him room. "You're confused, Obi-Wan. You don't want to be comforted. But you know you need to be, when assaulted by certain memories." He took a breath. "You have a long way to go before you'll be back to your normal life. Holding on to these thoughts isn't going to do you any good." Without hesitance, he embraced him.
Obi-One scrubbed at his face. "I don't want to be like this."
"I know." Qui-Gon whispered. "And you're not a burden. You're a joy of my life, whether you're happy or troubled."
Obi-One broke away and stood. "Thank you. I'm going to lay down for awhile." He started to walk with careful precision toward the bedroom.
"Obi-Wan."
He stopped.
Qui-Gon didn't move from the couch. "You know in your heart it wasn't your fault about Tahl. But what you don't know is that I don't think it was, either."
The young man nodded, shuffling wearily from the common area.
Qui-Gon sighed, very tired himself.
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
Obi-One entered the small bedroom, fingers trailing along the top of the bureau. He took two cautious steps and cleared the gap between it and the sleep couch, lowering himself to the mattress.
The task was more difficult than usual.
Because he was shaking.
He sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled shakily.
The weariness collected over these days was heavy and grinding inside him. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to fall dead away to sleep. Without the haunt of memories he couldn't understand.
Without the pain of those he could.
He sank onto his side and felt the subtle thrumming of the ship's engine beneath him. He still wasn't exactly accustomed to flying. Without sight to ground you, it was like floating aimlessly in dead black.
And, since Qui-Gon was in another room, he was detached and alone.
That was a cold feeling.
It reminds me of… His hand tightened on the pillow. No. I shouldn't think of that. He said he didn't blame me. He said it. He wouldn't lie to me. I should believe him.
But the calming, soft words the Master spoke were different than those Obi-One could hear in the remnants of his dreams.
"There is no help for me now."
The voice had been frigid, a hollow sound that tried little to masquerade its accusing undertones.
Obi-One could remember the rupture of his spirit. The tears made in it during that mission unable to mend. His soul too vulnerable to protect itself.
"You know in your heart it wasn't your fault about Tahl. But what you don't know is that I don't think it was, either."
He was absolutely still. Even the moisture damp in his eyes refused to begin its cascade. Maybe you don't think it now…But you did. I know you did.
In a while, he had his proof. Obi-One drifted off, piercingly aware that his door remained closed…with Qui-Gon on the other side.
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
Qui-Gon crossed his arms, staring with narrowed eyes at the rich, dark shifting of space. But although he appeared to study the backdrop sharply, he saw not one glitter-dusted star or burnt orange crater.
He could only find the pair of sky-swept eyes, partially hidden under a pale veil of lashes. Fine hairs moist with tears. A mouth stretched to taut indifference--to paralyze the trembling.
I pushed him away. He was just a child and I… His eyes clenched closed, a curse hissed under his breath. I blamed him.
His fingers tensed and curled into fists. Oh Gods Tahl, why does this have to be repeated? It took such a damn long time to get on with life. To be able to look at Obi-Wan and not see him as the hindrance that stopped me from saving you.
Qui-Gon exhaled, pushing a stray strand of hair from his face. He tried to hear her voice within his mind, the soothing, lyrical harmony. But instead, his ears were taunted with echoes.
The tiny, choking words she last uttered.
A healer, somewhere in a hazy distance, telling him she was gone.
Obi-Wan's surprised, strangled cry when he was injured. His apology spoken amid the chaos and his own pain.
The apology I refused to even acknowledge. Because I was so damn single-minded I forgot I had him to think about. I wouldn't let myself be reminded…that he was too young to witness all that. His lungs felt constricted, and he put a hand over his heart. I was supposed to be the one to protect him. Always protect him.
And he ended up needing to protect himself from ME.
The warmth of the room seemed to be leeched by the wretched memories, but he did nothing to guard against the growing chill.
What he must have gone through. Just a boy. And then a man. Thinking it was his fault. Thinking I thought the same thing…
And I did.
He sat straight up, a stricken look robbing his visage of its pacific grace.
Force…sweet Force…I did.
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
His rest was uninterrupted. A truly deep respite in which his weary mind and body had eagerly, gratefully wallowed. Obi-One emerged sluggishly from sleep, slipping in and out of consciousness for a few moments before settling in a groggy, half-alert state.
He moaned quietly, groping for the blanket that was kicked off in an unremembered fit during his slumber. A headache that had begun to creep dull tendrils around his temples when he was previously awake now made itself well-known, grasping at his neck and reaching for his shoulders.
A cool palm was pressed with light care upon his forehead.
Obi-One immediately stilled, his hand dropping under his chin. The tight pain receded, the strained areas eased, and the young man swallowed. "Th-Thank you."
Qui-Gon sensed his relief, sitting back in the chair beside the slender bed. "I should teach you how to do that. It's fairly easy. And it certainly comes in handy."
Obi-One didn't reply. He pulled himself upright, rubbing a hand in his hair.
The Master breathed in. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah. Better than I have in.." Obi-One paused, realizing with a tired chagrin that his span of memory wasn't so impressive in the first place. "Awhile."
"Any new dreams that you'd like to talk about?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
Qui-Gon smiled sadly. "Why do I get the feeling you're not too upset about that?"
His cheeks burned and he started to wrench the thin blanket in his hands.
Qui-Gon watched him. When he spoke, he did so carefully, in an inflection stripped of everything save honesty. "I'm sorry so much of what you'll rediscover will hurt you."
Obi-One turned his head toward the man and quirked his lip. "It's not your fault." He said.
Qui-Gon sat at his side. "Not all of it, no. But what you're going through right now…It's because I was neglectful then."
Obi-One was about to protest, but a finger touched to his lips, and he was silenced.
"I was too worried I wouldn't be able to heal. So I just blamed you. I threw all the blame at you and convinced myself that's where it belonged." Qui-Gon admitted huskily.
Obi-One stiffened. "But I was the one--"
"No, you weren't. And I knew that all along. But it was hidden under all the false resentment and pain. I was scared. I was angry. It was--It was easier to blame you, Obi-Wan. Can you possibly understand it?"
He nodded.
Qui-Gon sighed. "I let the stupid blame go sometime after. I'm not even sure when. It was a huge weight off me.
"But I never told you. Gods, I was a heartless fool and I didn't tell you."
Obi-One listened to the words, yet he couldn't comprehend the full meaning. I will, though. When I'm better, I'll know what it felt like. "I don't want to be angry with you."
Qui-Gon stroked his cheek. "Don't be afraid. I can take that, Obi-Wan. It's your right to be angry."
Abruptly, Obi-One squeezed his hand. "You won't lie to me, will you? If I remember something--difficult, you won't try to glaze over it so I won't get upset?"
No. Please no. "Of course I won't. I know you're not weak. But I was scared to say what I felt then. I didn't want to hurt you."
Obi-One smiled. " I think it would hurt more if you kept things from me."
Qui-Gon shuddered inwardly. I think you're wrong about that. "I'll be truthful, Obi-Wan. Whatever you want to know--I'll tell you."
Obi-One blinked back the gathering tears. "And I'll be truthful with you. I promise."
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
On the third and final day of their journey, Qui-Gon gathered their meager belongings while Obi-Wan showered.
His own materials were few, essential and easily stowed.
Obi-Wan's rucksack had been mostly untouched since… He fingered the soft, battered travel pack, dark brown but fading to a lighter color in patches. The regulation gear was carried by all Jedi and many sought to mark theirs with some kind of individuality. A simple embroidery, perhaps initials deeply sketched into the corner. In his younger years, Qui-Gon differentiated his with a glinting gold, star-shaped pin. He later recognized the foolishness of the thing and banished it to an unseen place--the inside lining of his pack.
But Obi-Wan never saw the need to improve the bland brown cloth. It was slung, plain, over a shoulder. And to be attached to such a wonderful carrier, Qui-Gon mused, was quite enough to give it sufficient contrast from the others.
Still, the Master had, now and then, debated whether he should pass on his own outgrown ornament to his apprentice. He would always reject the idea in the end.
As he did on this occasion, tossing his pack aside and removing a spare tunic and leggings from Obi-Wan's. He gave the clothes a brisk airing, then laid them out on the sofa.
Obi-Wan had been dressed in civilian attire after being discharged from the hospital, wearing a loose cream top and beige bottoms. They were similar to Jedi uniform, but must have felt far different. Qui-Gon hadn't believed it necessary to go through the process of instructing him how to wrap the tunic layers, when they would be restricted to the ship for several days.
With their humble vessel quickly approaching Coruscant, it was time to teach him.
The spray of the shower was shut off and a few minutes later Qui-Gon heard the padding of feet against the carpet in the next room.
He grabbed the earth-toned garments and stood at the door. "Obi-Wan? I have some clothes for you."
"Okay."
The door slid open and Qui-Gon entered. "Everything's ready to go."
Obi-One sighed. "That's good. It'll be nice to be on solid ground again."
Qui-Gon chuckled, reminded of his counterpart's rather infamous fear of flight. "Definitely.
"And since we'll be landing at the Temple, I thought it would be best if you wore the traditional Jedi clothing."
The Knight smiled. "Alright." He replied, with near-reverence.
Qui-Gon spent the next few minutes explaining how to secure the bands around his middle, then guided his hands to complete the twining.
"It's a little tricky." He said, when Obi-Wan fumbled. "You can imagine how it is for the initiates."
He was rewarded with a quiet laugh. "I have to wonder why the Jedi wouldn't choose a simpler outfit."
Qui-Gon handed him the worn, tan pants. "One of the Order's great mysteries, I suppose."
Obi-One snorted softly.
Qui-Gon stepped back, taking in the sight of him, his Padawan, clad in familiarity, the gentle shades bringing a new vibrancy to his eyes and his gingery hair. With each passing moment, he was moving beyond that frightened, pale form in the hospital gown, resuming his life as the strong Jedi he was meant to be.
Obi-One ran his hands down his sides. "Feels better this way."
Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder. "That's because it feels right, Obi-Wan." He ruffled the damp mane. Because it is right.
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
Anakin glanced at the closed door, channeling his impatience into a hard compression of his lips, watching as another passerby dwindled into the distance.
The hallway was a sleek, opulent display. Chancellor Palpatine preferred rich, dark colors, and his offices were decked in layers of deep violet, black and twilight blue, blood red. The man had carefully chosen the palate, so that the selections would meld well with his normal attire.
And he fit so perfectly in the color scheme that any outsider who entered the chambers would feel just a tad misplaced.
The boy's theory rang abundantly true when the door finally opened, revealing the guest that had caused this wait. She was a slender woman wearing a silken gown of bleached lavender, gathered slightly at the waist to enhance her slim middle. Citrus eyes raked over Anakin as she exited the Chancellor's main business suite, and flashed a grin that crossed from flirtatious to sensual.
He was never too surprised when shown such female attentions, and he tipped his head in response, a sly smile beguiling the blonde woman--since he had no intention of pursuing her beyond this brief encounter.
From his shallow touch upon her Force presence, weak as it was, he could decipher she carried more weight in certain areas beneath her dress than in her head.
Despite her witlessness, she seemed to understand his disinterest, and with a shyer smile, separated for the lift.
It was then that Palpatine emerged to greet his next appointment.
Anakin straightened, noticing as he followed the politician into the room that his own tunics and leggings matched fine with the shadowy hues of the chamber. Even the striking contrast of his black boot against the scarlet carpeting was attractive.
"It's been quite awhile since we last were able to meet, young Skywalker." Palpatine commented in his unfailingly, but not exactly unpleasantly, hoarse voice. "I must say I've missed our talks. They always prove very refreshing."
Anakin smiled, pride swelling in his chest. "I'm very glad to be here, sir."
Palpatine curled his lips, then folded his hands behind his back, strolling languidly to the large window behind his desk. "I haven't spoken with you since your return from Naboo. I would've liked to have been more involved in the problems there, it being my home planet, but I'm always so busied here."
Anakin came to stand near him. He looked out into the bright cityscape with hooded eyes. "Everything---Everything worked out. The people behind the kidnappings were caught and--"
"No, I'm quite aware of all that." The Chancellor interrupted, with a chuckle. "I'd like to hear of your experiences on Naboo."
Anakin shrugged. "It was another mission."
But Palpatine knew him too well for a base answer to be permitted. His blanched eyes, surrounded by loose, ashen skin, stared keenly at the apprentice.
Anakin felt an instant kinship with cellophane, unable to mask himself from the man's perceptions.
"A mission of mixed blessings, I'd say." Palpatine observed knowingly.
Anakin blew out a breath. "You're right about that, sir."
"Well, I haven't forgotten our previous talk. Unless Kenobi suddenly sprouted a brain and a spine since then, I'm sure you encountered some trouble."
He tried to force some sympathy in his response, false emotion he had created and embellished since the Knight's mind wipe. "Except for a few instances, we were hardly made to interact. I was usually with Padme."
Palpatine smiled, fine lines streaking from his eyes. "That must've been a welcome substitute."
"She was as wonderful as I remembered." Anakin affirmed wistfully.
The older man prodded him then, returning the focus to the negative topic of Kenobi, and adding to the Padawan's gloom with a mention of a particularly sore subject. "So I gather that your Master spent much of his time with his old protégé, eh?"
Anakin tensed. "Kenobi was sick."
"I'm not startled by that." Palpatine retorted. "Seems he's always ailing. Collecting pity where he can get it."
A rush of sweet relief swept through the youth. "I'm glad someone can see him for what he really is. Or was, I guess."
"Ah, yes, he was one of the last victims, wasn't he? Another unsurprising bit, that he'd allow himself to be captured."
"Then rescued by my Master." Anakin grumbled. "Master hasn't left his side since then. I was even sent back to Coruscant while he stayed with Kenobi. He had surgery to reverse the wipe."
"Hm. At the very least you were given a break from the imbecile. Do you know if it was successful?"
"Master says it was. They're supposed to be back today."
Palpatine peered at him. "And how do you feel about that?" He asked gently.
Anakin studied the thin scatter of clouds, bland in the sky. "I'm glad Qui-Gon'll be back. Things aren't the same without him." He walked away from the window. "I don't think they'll ever be the same now."
A hand rested on his shoulder. "I believe you have the power to prevent Kenobi from ruling your lives, Anakin." Palpatine held his gaze. "You're certainly strong enough. And you have another advantage.
"You are the pledged apprentice of Qui-Gon Jinn. He has obligations to you, current ones, that surpass any he has to Kenobi. That's how the Council will see it.
"And it would be easy enough to make Kenobi feel alienated. Especially in his current state. How much dedication can he have to your Master, without his memory? If you push the right buttons, at the right time, you can take back what's yours."
Anakin's gratitude shined in his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, sir." He bowed. "Thank you."
The Chancellor could hardly contain his pleasure. "And thank you."
^^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^
Mejant stood at the wide entrance to the hangar, caught between the comforts and assurances of the Temple behind her, and the acute pain that surely awaited her when she stepped through the threshold.
She had days to agonize over her man's condition, during which her insides remained in a tightly twisted knot and her nerves hopelessly on edge. Every moment she expected the communicator to buzz, like a grim, cracked bell at a funeral procession, and Master Jinn's voice would answer, informing her that he was sorry, terribly sorry--
But no such call came. She was not given any news of Obi-Wan, left to teach and spar and eat and attempt to sleep, a murky swelled cloud over her.
She prayed the rain would never descend, and spent long, shuddering nights sitting beside holos that captured the handsome visage.
Ebony eyes stared at the slick reflective flooring, remembering the countless times she had stood in this very spot, waiting for Obi-Wan's return.
Smiling faintly, Mejant imagined the roguish grin he would flash, and the surrounding area would, somehow, seem all the more incandescent, as he strode to her, his hair a bit unkempt, small shadows beneath his eyes, but full of vivacity.
"So when did the Council decide us returning Jedi needed an escort?" He would tease.
She would counter with a smile. "Maybe they were worried you bonked your head one too many times, during one of your infamous spurts of adventurous spirit, and forgot where to go."
Mejant could almost taste his lips, ghosting past hers in a chaste kiss, both of them mindful of his Master, or her Master, nearby.
"You always treat me so cruel, woman. But you know you lust after me like a bantha in--"
"Obi-Wan! She would gasp in amused exasperation, pushing him. "How dare you offend my honor…Besides, you give yourself a lot of credit."
His laugh was always deep, a melody carried through the spanning Temple bay.
The Knight leaned against the wall, raven hair falling around her face. So many outside elements were intermixed with their relationship, duties and liability, their own personal morals.
She loved him more than she could love another being in the Universe, and Mejant never denied that, cherishing the shared emotion between them.
But there were some lines that they could never cross, no matter what serenity and satisfaction they could possess after the journey.
Yet, deep within her, Mejant had been certain that once they fulfilled their promises to the Order, they would have the chance to fulfill the promises made to each other.
We can. We still can.
Qui-Gon told her, at last, two days before that he and Obi-Wan were heading back to Coruscant and the operation was deemed effective. It was a wonderful assuagement, but until she could see, touch, hold him…Her dark doubts remained.
Even if this doesn't work out…I'll be with you, my Obi. I've lived too long with you in my life.
I'd never be able to go on without you.
The small vessel was now in sight, and Mejant swallowed, then stepped through the door.
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The ship came to a steady, gradual halt.
Obi-One had secretly been preparing for the moment, but his stomach churned just the same, despite the calming rituals he practiced in his head.
Qui-Gon's hand, now a familiar comfort, fell to his back. "You've already conquered your greatest obstacles, Obi-Wan. And you've never had anything to fear here."
Obi-One inhaled, gripping the thin strap of his travel bag. His heart thundered and he could barely hear his own words. "Remember our agreement." He murmured, a curtain of sun-kissed ginger concealing his eyes. "Don't lie to me. Don't spare me."
Qui-Gon stroked the hair out of his face. "This is your home. And for better or worse, no one needs to fear coming home."
Obi-One smiled, his fingers remaining taut around the strap. "Have I always been this serious?"
The Master laughed. "I prefer to think of it as 'focused'."
A soft chuckle, then, "Where will I stay?"
Qui-Gon led him slowly toward the exit. "Well, I hate to say it, but I'm pretty sure the healers will want to take a look at you. Remember Bant?"
A nervous grin crossed his face. "Yes. My friend." A flutter of excitement was buoyant in his voice, as he felt bits of previously recovered memory surface. "She's…She's a little younger than me, right?"
Qui-Gon clapped his shoulder. "That's right. And she's an incredibly gifted healer who always…somehow…manages to be assigned to you."
Obi-One grinned.
They began their walk down the ramp, and the Knight attempted to rid himself of anxiety by centering on the hollow sound of their steps against the textured steel. Oh gods…Oh gods..this is it.
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Replies are always deeply appreciated. J I hope the story is enjoyable for anyone whose reading. -LuvEwan